


like Ophelia to the deep

by pixiepuff (colourmecrunchy)



Category: Merlin (TV) RPF
Genre: Angst, Emotional, Intense, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-02
Updated: 2012-10-02
Packaged: 2017-11-15 11:53:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/527014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/colourmecrunchy/pseuds/pixiepuff
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Colin's been in a committed relationship for ages.</p>
<p>Then Bradley comes along.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>  <em>This endless, improvisational dance of avoidance and distance, graceful steps of forward when Bradley goes back, and retreating whenever he comes forth again. He tries; he tries so hard. His whole life has become a long, well-known sidestep delivered with an ease he does not feel - it comes naturally now, a memory committed to flesh, a subconscious order to his body, a well-ingrained rule of don't look, don't touch, don't want.</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	like Ophelia to the deep

Colin isn't sure he can do this anymore.

This endless, improvisational dance of avoidance and distance, graceful steps of forward when Bradley goes back, and retreating whenever he comes forth again. He tries; he tries so _hard_. His whole life has become a long, well-known sidestep delivered with an ease he does not feel - it comes naturally now, a memory committed to flesh, a subconscious order to his body, a well-ingrained rule of _don't look, don't touch, don't want._

But he does. Lord, he _does_. He wants all of it: he wants to look without fear, he wants to touch to see if the skin is really as soft and warm as it seems, he _wants;_ the want itself has become irrelevant in its incessant bubbling and boiling, intermixed with dark, stale emotions of dread and denial and betrayal. The taste of _shouldn't look, shouldn't touch, shouldn't want_ is so strong it replaces the need for food, and Colin barely notices. The weight-loss makes him less- _everything_. He's not as jubilant, he's not as strong, he's not as witty and observant anymore. But that is okay, because if everything else is vanning, then this unthinkable, unspeakable want must be gone too, some day. Somehow.

 

It _must_ be gone. And yet it persists.

 

It persists for almost two years now, but Colin still has hope. Nothing is impossible; everything can be salvaged. _I am master of my fate_ , he reminds himself, and refuses to give in, to let the unwanted emotions best him, or take control over his sanity. He was never a weak-minded fool, not him. So he can do this.

Because this is the right thing to do.

He's a good man, and he's loyal to a fault - hurting others hurts _him_ , and Colin cannot deal with hurting a person that trusts him so much. Or, correction - a person who _trusted_ him so much.

Because he doesn't, not anymore. Apparently mentioning Bradley again was mentioning Bradley one time too _many_ , and the fight that followed afterwards was the ugliest clash of titans Colin's ever witnessed.

And the worst thing is, he can't blame him. He used to call him jealous, and unreasonable, and _blind_. He used to hold him until everything was right again, he used to touch him until everything resolved itself to its previous state of _okay_.

They were always _okay_. They were nights of quiet talks; they were walks in the winter snow. They were soft, classic music and deep words.

 

Bradley, though, is nothing like that. Colin and Bradley are loud laughter in the sun, a stuffy, glorious summer day, an electric-guitar solo of swear words and brilliant smiles.

And it wakes Colin up.

 

He doesn't contradict his jealous boyfriend anymore. He knows he's right. He can't blame him for trashing around, or his emotional eating, for comfort it provides - Colin can only blame himself. And silently, he promises himself, he promises them _both_ that he will do better, he will work harder, he will drown even inklings of stray thoughts again, he will annihilate anything in him that strives and is reaching towards the light, the heat, the noise -

he tries. But he no longer fights back with counterarguments when the quarrel starts. He no longer touches to soothe, he doesn't want to reassure anymore. How can he reassure anyone else, if he can't reassure _himself_? Knowing what to think is not enough, it doesn't stop him from actually doing it. The thought process takes him to many places, and while these places used to be _him_ , his intellect, his vast knowledge, his sommelier-like wine expertise, they now take him to other places _entirely_. He visits bright bursts of spontaneous ideas that don't work even in theory, let alone for real; he visits beer pubs and simple admissions of earnest _I don't know_ , and he learns not knowing everything is okay too.

 

He hates himself for it.

 

On rainy evenings, he tries to bring it all back, the slow, steady familiarity and predictability, the solid facts of comfortable companionship, the routine it provides, even when Colin wants the rush of the _unknown_. He's been in this for so long he's not sure he can do without - but _boy_ does he sometimes want to try.

 

So you see - he doesn't really try at all.

 

And he's pretty sure all three of them know what's going on. The point of no return will have to come soon; Colin knows there's only two options here. The third one doesn't exist, you see. It's either _this_ , the known and the right and what Colin knows he should choose, or -

_Bradley_.

And what he ought to do and what he wants to do are two completely different things.

 

He's going to go mad, or sick, and his body is screaming at this malnourishment, at this abuse, but Colin honestly can't make himself do better. They're all worried, he knows it - and the two people who worry most are the two people that are causing it in the first place.

Who knows - maybe they worry precisely because they know _they_ 're to blame.

 

As Colin sits on Bradley's sofa and watches him take empty glasses back to the kitchen, he swallows hard. He's worked himself into this panicked state, he's guilty for the sweaty hands and thudding heart, for scattered thoughts and nervous twitches.

He supposes Bradley is maybe a little bit to blame _too_ , with his endless soft looks and hopeful smiles that silently display the message of _maybe tonight_ , with his open warmth and clean shaven face and endless patience of a man that can't even wait for the popcorn in the microwave to be done - and yet he waits. For Colin.

 

And Colin can't do this anymore.

 

He gets up, and they meet exactly half-way. The odd symbolism behind it only makes the image of Bradley burn brighter in his mind.

Colin takes his hand, and Bradley, bless him, holds it without questioning.

 

_We need to talk_ , Colin rasps out, shaking in his resolve, brave in addressing this weakness.

 

_Come_ , is all Bradley says, but the ghost of his breath is warm on Colin's always cold cheeks, and it feels good.

It feels good.

 

Neither of them says a word, or questions it, when Bradley takes them down the hall and closes the bedroom door to the world, shielding them away from everything that might decide to break this weak, fragile thing between them that has long surpassed the toying on the edge, because they both know Bradley's only been waiting for him. In fact, all _three_ of them probably know this.

But Colin won't think of this tonight. Right now, there is only room enough for two - for two in flesh, and he's about to discover which two in his heart.

He sits down, and crawls backwards to reach the pillows. Bradley crouches at the foot of the bed, the look in his eyes so intense Colin already feels stripped naked to his very bones.

He doesn't think he makes a very attractive skeleton.

 

_If_ \- Bradley croaks, and then has to close his eyes and breathe to steel himself.

_What,_ is Colin's silent plea - _please, what?_

Bradley looks him straight in the eye, and his voice is no more than a whisper.

_If there was no rules. No restrictions. No after-thoughts or remorse. If nothing leaves this room, if you so choose- what would you like to do?_

 

Colin nods, slowly, and closes his eyes for a moment. He _needs_ to close his eyes, because he's afraid Bradley would _see_. He would see he's no longer neck-and-neck with the other contestant, that he hasn't been for a while now, that he's far ahead and this isn't a race, it isn't because Colin can't make people compete-

And yet he dreads the outcome, because he's bet on a horse that hasn't even left the stall yet.

He's afraid because the horse that's nearly at the finish line is the one he wants to win.

 

He takes off his shirt, and shivers from the cold. Or maybe he shivers from the look that follows on Bradley's face. For once, the cold seems to shy away from the searing gaze alone, no extra clothes needed.

Bradley shuffles closer, on all fours, pulling his own shirt off too. He bends lower and trails his nose and lips along Colin's neck in a slow, sweet slide, the gentleness almost too much to bear. Colin gasps at fingers mapping out his ribs, at the contact of soft, blonde hair brushing at his chin, at the lips pressing against his pulse-point; he shivers when the lips travel up and Bradley stops, stills in front of him and waits.

This is Colin's to command, after all.

He blinks away the sudden tears forming - tears for what, or whom, exactly, he cannot tell, and confesses.

 

_I can't stay away from you anymore._

 

He gets lost, then - lost in finally looking and touching and unleashing the want; he is dizzy with skin on skin, clothes shed so fast he did not physically deem possible. He moans at being explored, and kissed, and touched with such reverence he used to think doesn't exist in "lesser" men. Men not discussing Kafka and Nietzsche at all waking moments of their life, that is, and suddenly he is _appalled_ with himself for ever thinking of Bradley anything that isn't _everything_.

He gasps at this epiphany, he gasps and freezes despite the sweetest kisses being delivered to the back of his raised knee that tickle and scorch at the same time, that make him blush and moan; he freezes because _Bradley_ and _everything_ in the same sentence feels wonderful, and then he shivers uncontrollably at the thought of how much sorrow he's caused this man with his endless _noes_ , and _just friends_ , and _i can't hang out tonight_ , and _Bradley this is my boyfriend_ , and the tears come again.

 

He doesn't brush them off, so used he is to crying alone now, to cry himself  to sleep feeling helpless, not knowing what to do. He's used to _him_ not being there to wipe them off like he used to, either because Colin's staying at the hotel, or because _he_ 's not at his flat, rather drinking out with other _intellectuals_ , or because Colin doesn't want him to see, turned to face the other way, silently weeping in his cold misery.

 

Bradley suddenly cradles him close, and covers his face with kisses. The corrosiveness of his tears doesn't seem to bother him for he doesn't stop, and interwoven with kisses are soft words of _Colin_ , and _don't cry_ , and _I'm here_ , and _darling don't cry,_ and it only makes the tears flow faster.

 

_I need you to take me_ , Colin breathes out, his hands clutching at Bradley and not wanting to let go because how _could_ he? He's felt all possible shades of guilty for the past two years, but this is the only time he's on the brink of falling apart with an actual safety net underneath. He knows Bradley is there, he knows and feels it - sweet, sweet Bradley with his genuine happiness and curiosity and affection, and the feeling of not being able to breathe lessens somewhat in Colin's chest. The slow suffocation seems different now; where there used to be water flooding his lungs, it now feels like thirst, welcoming it into his being because how can a fish survive outside on the dry?

 

Bradley always knows what Colin needs, he's proven himself to be insanely observant, and compassionate, and irrationally understanding when it comes to Colin, so he doesn't hesitate at all. Colin is a mess in his hands, a trembling, whimpering mess as Bradley invades his senses, and makes him forget about everything so effortlessly, he's falling apart under Bradley's hands and mouth, lifting off the bed in pleasure when Bradley licks at his perineum, gasping for air when a bite is sucked onto his hipbone; he leaves scratches on Bradley's back when Bradley's slick fingers breech him and stretch him and caress him - he prepares Colin's body for his own, and Colin feels pure and virginal again, and doesn't even question these odd thoughts of feeling like being taken again for the first time, because it all feels too good, too right.

 

Bradley knows about the tempest in his head, Colin's sure of it, because he knows Bradley's always watching him, always guarding him, always worrying over him, and he's assured of it, suddenly, when Bradley flips him over to his belly and lays down his full weight on top of Colin, and pushes inside. Colin opens up and moans - there's no holding back, not when Bradley is doing exactly what he needs - Colin needs to be possessed like this and held down with spread legs, his cock rock-hard trapped between the sheets, his hands in a vice-like grip of Bradley's. His thoughts swim, and sink, and resurface in an endless circle of hips rolling back and forth like the tide, and the hot breath on his neck is like siren call. He doesn't know how long they're playing in the waves, he almost suspects the tips of his fingers would look like dried plums, an indicator of staying too long in the water, but he doesn't look if it's true. He doesn't look.

He lets Bradley control the stormy seas and doesn't have to try to synchronize their moans in a cadence of perfect rhythm. He's never felt so lost and unaware of everything but _this_ before, the weight of two years of torture hitting full force. Bradley grabs his hips then, and lifts them up enough to reach around and stroke Colin until Colin buries his head in the pillow and shouts his release, squeezing tightly around Bradley, still immersed inside him. Bradley is swearing above him, something of deep pleasure as he picks up his pace, Colin's name like a lifeline on his lips as he comes.

 

Afterwards, it's not Colin who shivers and needs to be held. It surprises him, because he expected to have a spectacular meltdown, his brain having trouble catching up with his spent body, his hysterics finally bursting in full glory. Instead, he's oddly calm, and feels he has himself under control, but then one look at Bradley threatens to liquify his insides, and Colin looks away for a moment just to breathe normally again. When breath stops hitching in his throat, he collects Bradley in his arms, and allows himself to kiss him until they are both stupid from it. He reciprocates, and kisses every inch of Bradley's face, nonsensical endearments falling off his lips that Bradley seems to get anyway -

just like Colin knew he would.

It breaks his heart when Bradley whispers _I don't want to forget this_ , so he kisses him again. He's kissing him until Bradley stops shaking, and then some more until Bradley is on the brink of sleep.

 

_I need to go now_ , he says.

It saddens him, to leave this man behind.

 

Bradley nods, a violent mixture of resignation and hope on his face and Colin swallows a sob he's not sure he even succeeded at hiding.

 

_I need to think_ , is all he can promise.

 

 

 

Next evening, Colin sends out two text messages.

 

_I'm sorry,_ one says.

 

_Please come to me and never leave_ , says the other.

**Author's Note:**

> we all know the second text was for Bradley, yes? :3
> 
> as if I could end my brolin fics with anything but impending wedding bells.


End file.
